


Kitchen Nightmares

by hostilecrayon



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Comedy of Errors, Comfort, Fire, Gift Fic, M/M, Oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilecrayon/pseuds/hostilecrayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shindou learns the hard way things in reality are not as easy as they seem on TV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kitchen Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aoigensou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoigensou/gifts).



> I wrote this probably a year and a half or more ago for aoigensou to cheer her up, and she liked it, but I didn't want to post it until I fixed a very minor thing...
> 
> OVER A YEAR LATER AT SIX IN THE MORNING ON A RANDOM SATURDAY, CHECK THAT SHIT OFF MY TO-DO LIST!
> 
> ...Yep.
> 
> I was watching too much Gordon Ramsey at the time...
> 
> SOMEDAY I WILL ACTUALLY WRITE SOMETHING NEW AGAIN. SOMEDAY. I SWEAR.

**Kitchen Nightmares**

“Not this again,” Akira groaned, lifting his copy of _Go Weekly_ a little higher to block even the very top of the TV from sight.

“I’ll never understand what you have against Chef Ramsay.” Shindou shook his head and turned the volume up a few more notches, much to Akira’s chagrin.

_Kitchen Nightmares_ was blaring out of the tinny speakers of Akira’s ancient CRT monitor – dramatic music, hysterical people crying or yelling or both, and always, Gordon Ramsay, his colorful language and derisive comments pelting Akira’s ears until he’d had enough.

“I’m going out to do some errands. Is there anything you’d like?” Akira asked as nicely as he could muster over the sounds of some owner cussing Ramsay out.

“What?” Shindou said, looking genuinely shocked. “You’re going to miss the reveal! It’ll be amazing if this stupid wench shuts up and starts listening.”

Akira rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. No thanks. If you don’t need anything, I’ll be back around dinner time. Should I get take-out?”

“Nah, I got it handled. And hey, pick me up the latest _Nintendo Power_? I have money here somewhere…” Shindou began sticking his hands in his pockets, a dubious expression on his face, his eyes never leaving the TV.

“Don’t worry about it. Just pay the _Go Weekly_ subscription online after, ah, the ‘reveal’. It’s almost up.”

“Yeah, sure. Don’t get lost, ‘kay?” Shindou threw his hand up and jiggled it around, his lazy way of making sure he waved in every possible direction so he didn’t have to peel his eyes away from his show.

Akira snorted, trading his house slippers for shoes. “Only you would think ‘don’t get lost’ is equivalent to ‘goodbye’. If I get lost, I have the earliest onset of dementia ever.”

“Yeah, okay,” Shindou replied, not really paying attention.

With a huff he walked out, and as he shut the door behind him, he heard Shindou yell, “Oh man, the reveal, I’m so excited!”

Akira couldn’t help but shake his head bemusedly any more than he could help the tiny smile that was playing at his lips.

\---

Once Hikaru was sure Touya was really gone – and of course, _Kitchen Nightmares_ was over – he scrambled to find his credit card, quickly renewing their _Weekly Go_ subscription so he could hightail it to the kitchen and get started.

“A chef without self-confidence is like a car without wheels,” Hikaru said aloud, quoting Chef Ramsay shamelessly. He opened the cupboard that never got used and pulled out two large bags he’d secretly stashed there the day before during Touya’s Shidougo job. It had been pretty close – Hikaru’d barely closed the cupboard when Touya’s key hit the lock.

He organized his ingredients by size just for the hell of it and chuckled to himself as he pulled out the last item. “Can’t forget my chef’s hat!” he said, donning a paper cook-out style chef’s hat.

“Let’s see,” he said, looking over his ingredients, “a chef must be inventive and imaginative.” He opened the cookware cupboard and eyed each item critically. “A sauce pan for sauce, definitely,” he said, pulling a medium sized pot down. “And two frying pans…” They joined the pot on the stove. “Hmm… and a wok for vegetables!” he declared, covering the last burner.

“There, now that that’s done…” He turned to the fridge and rummaged in one of the seldom-used drawers, finding his two filets of halibut under a block of cheese.

“Slightly lumpy, but still fresh. Only the best for my kitchen!” He unwrapped them and laid them out on a cutting board. He dithered over what to season it with before he decided big flavor is always a plus, heaping on lemon pepper, garlic salt, onion salt, something called ‘season all’ – good for every season? – and finally, some regular old salt and pepper.

He started to hum, tapping his foot in time as he unwrapped a cube of butter and warmed it in a pan, adding the fish once it had melted. It sizzled nicely, and Hikaru smiled, swaying to his own tune, chopping the vegetables to the rhythm. Another cube of butter went into the wok, eggplant, broccoli, asparagus, brussel sprouts, beets, cucumber, turnip, onion, and garlic tumbled in after it. A quick snap of the wrist spread the butter around, and he left it to cook.

Into the second frying pan went a liberal amount of oil, set to high. He stared at the remaining contents of the counter before picking up the chicken broth and pouring it in the last pot, adding several cubes of chicken stock for extra flavor. “Mmm, chicken and fish,” Hikaru hummed, pouring in some dashi, miso, and curry powder to give it a kick. “A splash of milk and some flour to thicken…” he said, his tongue caught between his teeth as he tried to eyeball a good amount. Three turns of the whisk and into the freezer he went to retrieve the frozen shrimp.

He was pretty sure the oil was hot enough, so he turned the bag to dump the shrimp in the pan.

“Ow ow ow fuck ow!” Hikaru yelped as bits of ice met oil and exploded into a burning spray in all directions. He jumped back, dropping the bag in the process to run his already blistering arms under cool water.

“What’s that smell?” Hikaru wondered, turning about to locate the source. “Shit! Shit shit shit!” The plastic bag hadn’t made it to the floor or the counter, instead getting stuck to the stove – the gas stove with real flames and all – and was melting to the side of the frying pan, to the burner, and to the stovetop itself. Black smoke hovered above.

“Daaaaamn it,” Hikaru swore, turning off the burner and moving the frying pan to the counter. He was sweating a little now and the bounce in his step was gone, but he was determined. He used the wok to flip the vegetables and whisked his sauce again, adding more flour before flipping the fish.

He frowned at it. It wasn’t crispy looking like he expected – it kind of looked a little soggy. Well, that was okay, he’d just have to cook it longer than he’d thought. No problem. Actually, his vegetables were looking a bit on the soggy side, too. He seemed to remember them cooking a lot faster for his mom, but what did he know? He ignored them in favor of trying to scrape off the burnt plastic with a metal spoon.

It took some elbow work, but he got most of it off, and he put his shrimp back on to fry before _they_ got soggy, too. He was reaching for his whisk when he saw it.

“Oh god, oh god, Touya is going to _kill_ me,” he said, feeling the blood drain from his face.

On the counter was now a perfect imitation of the bottom of the pan, except a yellowish-brown burnt color permanently branded into the surface. He rubbed at it with a wet cloth, but it was a pointless effort – it wasn’t a stain, it was a _burn_.

While Hikaru was staring at it and imagining all the possible ways Touya would kill him later, the smell of burning reached his nose again. At first, he ignored it, expecting some of the plastic to still need to burn away, but when he felt the plume of heat hit him in the chest, his head swiveled, his mind changing gears from future Touya death to the imminent death staring him in the face if he didn’t do _something_.

The remaining plastic had caught fire, which had caught the hot oil on fire, and Hikaru’s eyes grew impossibly wide as the flames licked at the cupboards overhead. Hikaru cried out, rushing to the sink to fill a bowl with water. Standing back, he flung the water at the oil.

It was, he would later learn, his biggest mistake.

It did not put out the fire.

Suddenly, it was like he was trapped in an inferno. The flames were everywhere – licking up the wall, spreading across the ceiling, catching the objects on the counter on fire – and Hikaru did the only thing he could think of.

He ran. Out of the kitchen, into the living room, scooping up his phone as he raced to the door, grabbing his shoes with one hand and fumbling with the doorknob with the other, trying to open it with his phone in hand.

Once he was safely outside, he dialed the emergency number.

“What’s your emergency?”

“Hello? Yes? Hello? Our kitchen! It’s on fire!”

“Are you trapped in the house?” she asked in a soothing tone.

“I ran out of there as quickly as I could! I don’t want to freaking die, lady!”

“Please calm down sir. Can I have your address?”

“Calm down?” Hikaru yelled hysterically into the phone. “Our kitchen is on fire! Touya is going to kill me!”

“I understand that, but I need an address if I’m going to send a unit out.” The dispatcher’s mellow tone just made Hikaru feel more frantic.

“I live at the house that’s _on fire_!” he shrieked, before finally rattling off their address.

“Someone will be out to assist you shortly,” she said, cool as ever.

“Assist? I don’t need someone to _assist_ , I need someone who can put out a _freaking fire_!”

“The fire truck will be arriving shortly. Please stay clear of the residence until you are instructed it is safe to reenter.”

“The _residence_? This is our home!” he yelled, but the line had already gone dead.

“Shit fuck, oh god,” he cried unintelligibly, holding his head in his hands, face buried in his stupid chef's hat, and tried not to watch as the home he shared with his anal-retentive boyfriend made its best impression of firewood.

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before the fire fighters turned down his street, but it felt like hours, and he watched helplessly as hoses were positioned and thick jets of water shot into his house, breaking windows and undoubtedly ruining at least one of their several gobans. He replied absently to the medic that approached him, letting him check him over for injuries.

“You’re going to want to get some burn cream for these blisters, but otherwise, you’re pretty lucky, kid,” the medic said, not unkindly.

Hikaru snorted. “Lucky enough to completely burn down our house.”

“Hey, listen to me, kid. You could be stuck in there. Or worse, someone you love could be stuck in there. I’d count my lucky stars if I were you.”

Hikaru nodded numbly, terrified to even imagine what he’d be like if Touya had been home, had come to help, and had gotten… trapped.

In there. With the fire.

Hikaru choked back a sob, not willing to sit outside his burning house sobbing like a lunatic all by himself.

“I live here,” he heard, and he turned towards the sound, towards the voice that could reach him from across the ocean if it had to, like a siren’s song played just for him.

“Touya!” he cried out, and Touya was let through, and he was running, running to meet Hikaru, and Hikaru just threw himself into Touya’s arms, and Touya dropped his bags to hold him close.

“Are you all right?” Touya breathed.

Hikaru couldn’t stop the tears from falling then.

“I wanted to surprise you and I should have never, and oh my god, there were flames everywhere, and I’m such an idiot and our home, our home is burning!” he rambled, and Touya squeezed him tighter.

“Home is wherever we are,” Touya said softly, running a hand over Shindou’s hair.

“I’m so sorry, this is all my fault, I just wanted to make you dinner; I just love you so much and look what happened!”

Hikaru, his face buried in Touya’s shirt, clung to his boyfriend, and they watched as the kitchen portion of their house caved in on itself.

\---

“We were able to save the bedrooms, but I’m afraid the entire front of the house is destroyed,” one of the men was telling them as they sat and stared. “You’ll be able to retrieve your things from there once the wood has cooled, but, well, I hate to say it, but you’ll have to find a new place to live.”

“When will we be able to enter for our things?” Akira asked, somehow managing to keep his level head.

“We’ve cleared a path for you to get some emergency items, but you won’t be able to sort through what’s there for a couple of days. It’s too dangerous.”

“Thank you,” Akira remembered to say. Gently, he untangled himself from Shindou. “Stay here, alright? I will get some clothes and a few essentials, and then I’ll be right back.”

Shindou nodded, staring up at him with glassy eyes. He let his hand slide down Shindou’s face to cup his cheek, and he kissed him softly, distressed but not at all surprised when he didn’t respond.

Akira resolutely did not look towards the pile of ash and burnt wood that used to be the front of their house, moving with single-mindedness to gather as much as he could in as little time as possible, stuffing suits and kifu books and gobans haphazardly into bags.

One of the men met him at the ‘entrance’ – a hastily swept pathway through what used to be an outside wall – and helped him carry his load out to where Shindou was waiting.

“Do you need to call someone?” the man asked.

“No, we have working phones, thank you.”

The man shrugged and doubled back to the rest of his team, helping to put out the last glowing embers lurking beneath the ash.

Akira made a quick phone call, then went about getting Shindou up and alert enough to carry a small bag or two.

“Hey, it’s all right. We need to get closer to the curb for when the taxi arrives. Can you carry this?” Shindou nodded, mechanically reaching out for the bag. He blinked back tears when he realized his hand was already occupied with the god damned chef's hat. He just stared at it, his hand hovering in the air, mission forgotten.

Akira did his best to smile gently as he set the bag aside, his fingers coming up to grab Shindou's hand and squeeze reassuringly. Their eyes meet, and it feels car crash after the collision, the moment when the noise and movement finally stops, before the confusion and worry, that crystal clear moment in between when all you can think is _Thank god, I survived_. Akira gingerly untangles the hat from Shindou's fingers and carefully tucks it away in one of the bags before handing it to Shindou.

The pace was excruciatingly slow, and by the time they were settled on the curb, the taxi was pulling in behind the fire truck.

It was only a few blocks to the hotel, and the driver looked surprised, but he knew Shindou would never make it in his condition. He paid the fare and helped Shindou out of the cab, again giving him the lightest bag and shouldering the three heavier ones himself. He rushed through the check in, and one elevator ride and a short walk later, they were finally alone.

“It’s all my fault,” Shindou started, but Akira was having none of it.

“What’s done is done. Right now, you need to rest. We’ll worry about what we should do tomorrow.”

“But I-“ Shindou said, looking lost.

“You did not burn the house down on purpose,” Akira said, both of them flinching a little. “Accidents happen all the time. You were trying to do something nice for me. I’m certainly not going to fault you for that, even if it did go a little… awry.”

Shindou snorted softly. “A little?” he asked tentatively.

It was like flipping a switch. Touya sagged into the chair next to the bed, relieved and exhausted and worried and planning ahead all at the same time. “That could be, ah, a bit of an understatement.”

They were both quiet as Shindou dug through the bags. Instead of something to change into, though, Shindou pulled out a folding goban and set it on the small table between the chair and the bed, holding out a goke to Akira expectantly. Akira looked at him like he was insane.

Then he took it.

Two games of silent speed go later, Akira could feel his mind unwinding; Akira could see Shindou unwinding. “We should change for bed. I know I packed some things to sleep in…” Akira went to reach for the bag, but Shindou’s warm hand on his stopped him.

“Not tonight?” he asked. “I want to feel you, skin to skin. When I think about what I would have done if you’d been home, what I would do if… if…” Shindou choked on the ‘if’ over and over until Akira slid out of the chair to gather Shindou up in his arms.

Akira trailed soothing fingers over Shindou’s back, over his sides and his hair and his legs, letting him know with each touch that he was here. “I wasn’t, everything is okay, please don’t…”

Shindou kissed him hard, tasting of salt and fear and remorse, and Akira matched him, pouring his love and care into each touch of lips.

“I’m sorry,” Shindou couldn’t seem to help but say, and Akira wiped away his tears with the pads of his thumbs, his other fingers framing his face.

“Hikaru,” Akira said, using his given name as he seldom does, “I love you. Eternal rivals, remember?”

Hikaru smiled ruefully. “Yeah. Eternal.”

They undressed and slipped under the covers, pressed together to remind themselves they were both here, that they were safe, and that their love is forever unshakable. Akira felt his heart pound harder as things wound down, letting himself feel the very real panic he’d known when he’d first approached his house on fire.

“I almost lost you,” he finally let himself say, feeling his chest tighten with the knowledge of just how close it had been.

“I’m here now, Akira. I’m not going anywhere,” Shindou soothed.

“I need you,” Akira whispered. Shindou was the other half of his soul, his rival, the only person who could ever fit with him like this, who could ever push and pull him towards the hand of God, who could ever make him feel so strongly and so deeply that Akira didn’t have words for it in any of the languages he’d studied.

They lay intertwined until Akira’s heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm. Shindou’s breathing started to even out, and Akira could feel the edges of sleep coming to claim him.

Sleepily, he mumbled, “’Karu?”

“Mmm?” came the not quite awake reply.

“You’re never allowed to watch Kitchen Nightmares ever again,” he said, but Shindou couldn’t hear him – he was already asleep, nuzzling deeper into Akira’s side.

Akira smiled softly. Not like even after all this, his lover would listen. It would just be one of many things that, as time stretched on into the future, reminded Akira that Shindou was alive and well.

With that thought in mind, Akira closed his eyes and slept.


End file.
